


Symbol of Hope

by Revasnaslan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Biology, Aliens, Gen, Gladiators, Medical Procedures, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Pre-Canon, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 10:59:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14669709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Revasnaslan/pseuds/Revasnaslan
Summary: Hope can be a very rare commodity. But it can also be found by the strangest of circumstances.





	Symbol of Hope

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this last year for a zine that ended up falling through, but I was recently given permission to post it, so now I'm doing that. I feel like I've improved over the last couple of months, so I dunno if this fic would be missed at all, but since I wrote it, might as well add it to my portfolio XD
> 
> If you squint you could probably tell that if I had been allowed to make this shippy, this would've ended up as yet another Thulaz fic to add to my ever growing list of them.

Being undercover within the Central Hub was rough.

Since arriving, Ulaz had functioned as an informant, for the most part, gathering information and passing it on to Thace. If needed, he also aided Thace as back up. Thankfully, they hadn’t had implemented this system that often since he had arrived several years ago, even if they balanced each other out, combatively speaking. If it came to it, Ulaz was also Thace’s way out. Ulaz had agreed to go undercover because it was essential to the survival of the Blade of Marmora—the very organization that had taken him under its wing and trained him so that he could fight back against the Empire. Perhaps make his mothers proud in the process. The Blade needed the wealth of information that was hidden within the clutches of Central Command. If they could only access it…

Another reason that Ulaz, a medical officer, had been sent in rather than a standard field officer, was because of his knowledge of xenobiology. It was invaluable for rising quickly in the ranks of the medical corps, particularly in the gladiator pits. Right now, his goals required that he keep his head down and play himself off as a loyal soldier to the Galra Empire. In reality, if he were able, he would’ve stabbed Zarkon the first chance he got—preferably from the front… but he was flexible.

His current job was healing the gladiators who fought in the pits every night—competing for their right to live. Those who did survive would _potentially_ increase their ranking within a makeshift hierarchy that detailed who was the strongest and which gladiators should not be messed with. In his time there, Ulaz had seen several Galran gladiators. Almost all of them had willingly entered the pits in order to increase their standing, or regain something that their clan had lost in the years since the war had begun. However, other aliens had been forced into the pits, most often through conquest and enslavement.

Such was the case with the gladiator who he was working with now—or trying to, at least. The patient strapped down to the table in front of him was a member of the Lachesis species, a reptilian people from the planet Moirai, which was a newer acquisition of the Empire, and the result of several hundred years of aerial bombardment and ground forces being set upon a hostile, rainforest-covered planet. After being conquered, the Lachesis were enslaved—they had become known for their endurance and deadliness in the pits, and were incredibly difficult to take down.

The Lachesis before him had been blinded in one of their more recent fights, by the current reigning Champion, Myzax. However, as Ulaz moved around the table to take stock of their injuries, the Lachesis tried to track his movements anyway. Ulaz suspected they had some sort of heat-sensing organ somewhere on their face or along the edge of their mouth. Or perhaps pheromones? He could see the Lachesis’s long, forked tongue flicking out of their mouth, through one of the tiny slits in the muzzle covering their mouth that allowed for air circulation.

“I am about to start stitching up your arm,” Ulaz said, trying to maintain a facade of indifference. He hadn’t been authorized to offer them any kind of pain reliever until _after_ he was done, but even then, only a bare minimum dosage. While Ulaz wanted to offer some semblance of comfort, his aides and the gladiator’s guards stood not even five feet away.

The Lachesis didn’t respond, even though Ulaz knew they had understood what he had just said. The muzzle also functioned as a translator. Instead, they continued staring in his direction, only struggling against their restraints as he began stitching. He bit back an apology ever single time the Lachesis let out a hiss, their tongue flicking out from within the muzzle. While Ulaz didn’t like the muzzles, he knew that if he took it off, the Lachesis would likely bite him. They had fangs with potent, quick acting venom. He would be paralyzed before he hit the floor, and the Lachesis would be put down.

He wouldn’t have blamed them for lashing out, though, given their circumstance.

However, if the Lachesis didn’t calm down, Ulaz would be ordered to sedate them. The was concerning, as Galran drugs took longer to work their way through the systems of several species—including Lacheses. This one would be left drowsy and lethargic for upwards of two days… and Ulaz didn’t like to think about what would happen if they were chosen to fight tomorrow evening. He banished the thought from his mind as he continued his meticulous work.

The order for the sedation would come from the Druids, who would have no qualms about purposefully compromising one of the gladiators if it meant something could be taught. They—as well as the witch leading them—were far more concerned with the use of pain to motivate gladiators, rather than its effect on their wellbeing. While Ulaz believed they were foolish on that account, he spared them his reasoning and didn’t argue whenever they brought it up. He couldn’t afford to draw attention to himself like that. The only thought on the minds of the gladiators that the Druids wanted was fear—particularly amongst those who had been imprisoned against their will. The fearful were more desperate to survive and less hesitant to fight, making for more ‘exciting’ gladiator fights.

Only the best for the Imperial fleet…

As he worked, Ulaz tried to keep all his focus centered on the task at hand—it was easier that way, perhaps, to not think about what this gladiator must have gone through in the ring mere vargas before. His ears flicked in the direction of the door when he heard it open with a faint _hiss_. He wasn’t surprised when a Druid entered—thankfully, they were _not_ flanked by Witch Haggar, as Ulaz held no love for the leader of the Druids. Even if they hadn’t been on opposing sides, Ulaz still would have found her presence to be unnerving. In every sense of the word.

“What is the specimen’s status?” the Druid asked. They lingered _far_ closer than Ulaz was comfortable with, but he didn’t say anything about it. Even if the odd… _energy_ the Druid gave off made him feel queasy and caused anxiety to flare in his chest. He felt like he was being examined down to his very bones. It was a feeling he was accustomed to, as it always came when one was in the presence of the Druids.

“They sustained several fractured bones, some lacerations,” Ulaz said as he continued his work—trying to heal his patient as much as he could before he was ordered to stop. However, in a rare show of defiance, Ulaz also began giving suggestions that the Druid had not sought. “They should be withheld from the ring for at least the next couple of quintants, so they can heal more.”

The Druid let out an unnatural sounding hiss behind their mask that had the short fur on the back of Ulaz’s neck spiking up and his ears drawing back. He did not back down, however. Instead, he leveled a blank stare upon the Druid, setting his jaw behind his mask as he waited for their response.

“Do they have a sponsor?” the Druid asked.

Ulaz’s brow furrowed as he pulled up the Lachesis’s file on his datapad… even though he already knew the answer. Prisoner 116-3745 did _not_ have a sponsor. Nobody had ever claimed them, and it was going to cost them dearly.

“No,” he said, voice stiffer than he would have liked for it to be. “They do not.”

If the Druid noticed his tone, they gave no indication. “Then, there is no reason to waste time on them,” they said smoothly. “Witch Haggar is not interested in the Lachesis—she finds them…”

The Druid trailed off as they glanced back at the Lachesis, who was beginning to struggled against their restraints again. Their tongue flicked out from behind the muzzle as they scented the air, turning their head to follow Ulaz’s heat signature—and the Druid’s, presumably. For a moment, Ulaz and the Druid both watched the Lachesis in silence, and Ulaz felt pity rise in his chest, although he bit it down to keep from doing something he’d later regret.

“ _Difficult_ … to control,” the Druid finally decided on.

“What shall I do, then?” Ulaz asked, feigning disinterest as he turned his attention back to the datapad he held in hand.

“Do not heal them fully,” the Druid said. “Then, once you are done, your guards will escort them back to the prison block.”

Ulaz said nothing else. He knew exactly why the Lachesis was being refused treatment. It was meant to encourage obedience, success in the ring. If they could prove themselves, if they could get a sponsor, then—and only then—would they be allowed the benefits other gladiators had. So, rather than continue to fight a losing argument, Ulaz saluted, bowing his head as he brought his fist to his chest. Even though he _wanted_ to stab the Druid in the back as they left.

It was with a hollow heart that Ulaz continued his work, possibly healing the Lachesis more than he should have. He couldn’t do much for the fractures, but he could at least heal some of the scrapes and lacerations.

The Lachesis died the next time they went into the ring, but Ulaz did not have time to mourn his failure.

—

Ulaz occasionally attended gladiator matches when invited. Sometimes, the invitation was because the soldier in question was… _interested_ in him. Most of the time, however, it was a matter of business. Due to his skill as a xenobiologist, soldiers would often ask him for his opinions on which gladiators to sponsor, since it could be a gamble, as well as an investment. He used those invitations as an opportunity to help prisoners who were most likely to survive. With a sponsor, they had a better chance.

It was rare that he got to meet up with Thace outside of information exchanges or a chance encounter in one of the halls or the elevator. Ulaz only wished this meeting had been under better circumstance. Thace never attended the gladiator fights unless he had been invited, and social convention dictated he couldn’t get out of it.

“Commander Prorok is looking to sponsor someone,” Thace explained, without prompting. He kept his voice low, even though the stands around them were relatively deserted—which was unusual, as normally the place was packed, and there was little hope of finding a seat unless you got there early. However, several fleets had just shipped out to other sectors, so perhaps that was the reason.

“And he couldn’t attend himself?” Ulaz asked.

“He was… busy tonight,” Thace said vaguely, averting his gaze. Ulaz didn’t take the lack of information personally, since Thace was purposefully withholding it so that Ulaz couldn’t say something he wasn’t supposed to know. “So, I have to fill in for him. As you are one of the top medics, I wanted your opinion, doctor…” It was clear that Thace did not want to be here, judging by the slight twitch of his ears and his stiff posture. However, it was subtle enough that those who weren’t close to him were unlikely to have noticed it. Thace had always been a good actor, even back when they were still initiates, before they had passed their Blade trials.

“He heard there was a new shipment of prisoners?” Thace continued. “Commander Throk was _very_ excited up on the bridge last cycle.”

“Yes, I believe so,” Ulaz said, nodding slowly. “From all over the Empire—some of them are even from new species from more recently conquered systems…”

Thace’s ears gave a twitch of interest—though Ulaz knew it wasn’t for show.

“I have yet to be allowed access to them, however,” Ulaz said, shaking his head. “I fear if Commander Prorok wants my opinion on those prisoners in particular, it will have to wait until after their first fights…”

Thace nodded in understanding.

The first matches of the night came and went—none of them were to-the-death yet. Those only started later in the night. Ulaz didn’t know if that was better or worse. The night stretched on, and after a few dozen matches of the non-lethal variety, the impatience of the crowd was palpable in the air. While Thace and Ulaz were no strangers to death and violence, it was different seeing innocent prisoners fight for their lives in the rings than it was to kill soldiers who knew what they had signed up for. When the to-the death matches actually did start, Thace visibly stiffened in his seat, and Ulaz braced himself. Up until this point, he had only been keeping count of all the gladiators he would no doubt be in charge of healing after he was back on shift in a couple of hours.

After the fifth match, Ulaz noticed how Thace turned his head, to avoid having to watch the killing blow. It was a subtle motion, just enough to avert his eyes. His ears were oddly still, as if he were straining to keep them from twitching. Ulaz reached out and lightly rested a comforting hand on Thace’s shoulder as they waited for a new match to be set up—the last one before the intermission, thankfully. Ulaz didn’t often think about it, but he didn’t know how he would react if he saw a fellow Blade in the ring, meant to be slaughtered by one of the gladiators—or rising through the ranks themselves. He thought that perhaps if anyone had a chance of surviving in the ring it was a Blade.

Especially against Myzax, the champion who had blinded the Lachesis. Ulaz only knew that Myzax was a prisoner who had fought his way into the hearts of millions of soldiers thanks to his brute strength and love of violence. He was more bloodthirsty than any Galra was expected to be, which made him the perfect gladiator. That was all that Ulaz had heard of him, as the rest of his file was need-to-know and Ulaz didn’t need to know anything about him. Myzax played the crowd easily, raising his weapon—some new experimental one given to him by Witch Haggar, crackling with purple energy in the light—and Thace’s ears pinned back as the crowd cheered. Ulaz’s hand tightened on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze through the armor.

It took longer than it normally did to pull a challenger into the ring. The crowd began to get more and more rowdy and Thace was beginning to get anxious too—which was to say nothing of how the short fur on the back of Ulaz’s neck was spiking up. The new alien was not one that Ulaz recognized. While this match would no doubt end in slaughter, Ulaz was curious about Myzax’s first challenger of the night.

“Is that an Altean?” Thace whispered, more to himself than to Ulaz. They had all seen pictures of Alteans during basic training, but never a living one. Ulaz had thought they were extinct due to the efforts of Emperor Zarkon. However, he had his doubts that Zarkon had managed to wipe _all_ of them out, even if Zarkon liked to say that he had. Surely there were hybrids out there…

“I doubt it…” Ulaz whispered back. “A look-a-like species, perhaps…”

This new alien was small— _much_ smaller than Myzax—and armed with only a gladiator’s sword. From this distance, and without looking over their charts, Ulaz couldn’t tell if they had claws or sharp teeth that could be used to defend themselves in the event they _lost_ that sword. There was little hope of this alien surviving. They had only been brought in to get the crowd wound up for some of the later fights. Still, Ulaz wondered where they had come from, what they were capable of. If they were a new species, it was likely that other members of the species would be put through a ‘testing period’ if they showed promise in the ring. The Lacheses had gone through something similar when their home planet of Moirai was first conquered by the Empire, and now they were used as fighters in many of the smaller rings too.

Myzax didn’t take it easy on the new alien—but Ulaz hadn’t expected him to. The energy ball from Myzax’s weapon sung as it flew through the air, over the heads of the visitors in the stands. The sound of it left ringing in Ulaz’s ears and the force of its energy caused his teeth to hurt. However, he didn’t allow his discomfort to show through his expression. He did hear Thace mutter _who designed that thing?_ under his breath as he gritted his teeth. From Ulaz’s understanding—and overhearing a conversation between a pair of Druids who hadn’t noticed he was listening—Myzax’s latest weapon was a gift given due to his status and sponsorship. It was supposed to give him an edge in his fights, make him more interesting to watch. Which was unfortunate for this new alien.

Or at least, it should’ve been.

“Do you think they are a trained fighter?” Ulaz whispered when he noticed how to the new alien wasn’t backing down, even when faced with certain death. They were smart enough to not run in blindly to take Myzax head on, and had taken on a defensive fighting style. “A warrior from their planet perhaps?”

Thace’s ears twitched, and then pinned back. He shot Ulaz a look through narrowed eyes, frowning. However, he said nothing, and turned his attention back to the fight. It dragged on longer than Ulaz had initially thought it would. Myzax’s fights normally only lasted a couple of doboshes before he managed to cut down his opponents—and his weaponry gave him an unfair advantage in that regard. But this alien… they were watching what Myzax was doing. They would bob and weave between the large pillars in the arena, using them as cover in order to avoid the energy pulse from Myzax’s weapon. It took a few doboshes for Ulaz to realize _why_ the alien was doing that, aside from taking cover.

They were trying to find Myzax’s weakness—whether it be in his weapon or his fight strategy. It had been a while since there was a good warrior to battle the champion, one that actually stood a chance. When the alien finally made a break for it, rushing at Myzax, a roar shot through the crowd. For once, Ulaz was on the edge of his seat—he wanted to see how this alien was going to fair now that they were out in the open without any cover from Myzax’s energy blast. A parry and a blow, and they managed to draw blood—thick and black, running down from a cut on Myzax’s cheek as he roared in retaliation. However, before he could continue attacking, the alien was gone, ducking back behind cover to barely avoid another energy blast.

The energy of the crowd became more and more intense as Myzax tried to retaliate against his opponent—but the alien seemed to have learned a strategy for attacking, and they implemented it with startling accuracy. They dashed between the columns and waited for a break in Myzax’s attacks to dart out of cover and deliver blow after blow. When Myzax hit the dirt floor, and uttered little more than a groan, the crowd exploded, cheering as the fight was brought to a close.

Even through the sickening feeling in his stomach— _had this alien ever killed before?_ —Ulaz watched as the alien was dragged away from the ring by sentries. Still, Ulaz’s curiosity was piqued.

“What’s on your mind?” Thace asked, trying to keep his gaze straight ahead and his voice low. People were already leaving the arena for the intermission while the field was reset, and there was chatter filling the air, so his voice was nearly drowned out.

“I am just wondering what planet that new alien is from,” Ulaz said. “I’ve never seen one of their kind before.”

“It’d be in their prisoner log,” Thace said. His ears shifted back no more than half a tick later. “Don’t go poking your nose where it doesn’t belong…”

Ulaz quirked a brow and shot him a flat look.

“You _know_ what I mean,” Thace hissed through his teeth. “You can’t compromise your position just because you were curious about _one_ prisoner from some unknown planet—”

“But—”

“They’re probably from the other side of the galaxy,” Thace continued, cutting him off. “Just—keep your head _down_.”

“They could be useful,” Ulaz retorted.

“You don’t know that, Laz…” Thace sighed, shaking his head. Then, he motioned with his ears to Ulaz’s hand, the one that had the encrypted chip stashed underneath of a claw. “Just _stick_ to the mission. No distractions, no detours. Or else the Commander will have your head.”

Ulaz snorted. He wasn’t scared of Kolivan. For Thace’s sake and peace of mind, though, he nodded. He watched as Thace stood and left the arena, disappearing back into the crowd, but stayed where he was until the arena had cleared out a little more. Then, he followed suit and headed back down to the prisoner block to tend to some of the prisoners who had managed to survive the night’s fights.

—

Through searching the prisoner database, Ulaz had found the alien’s homeplanet, and recognized the coordinates. The Blade of Marmora had found energy anomalies on the surface of that planet several years before. While Kolivan had marked them off as just that— _anomalies_ —some of the other high ranking members had thought that perhaps they indicated the presence of part of Voltron. Ulaz knew it was a cub’s tale, but his mothers had always been so adamant about the lions existing and that one day they’d come back…

Through keeping tabs on the new reigning champion—mostly out of sheer curiosity—Ulaz had learned the alien’s name, as well as the fact that there were two more like him, although both had been sent to work camps. Shiro, as the alien was apparently called, judging by how he would introduce himself to other prisoners, had attacked one of his own for some reason, and Ulaz failed to understand why. When he had finally been permitted to see the champion after Witch Haggar’s newfound interest had abated enough for her let him be seen by a xenobiologist, he had found that Shiro didn’t seem that dangerous. His species lacked claws and sharp canines, and whatever made him so ferocious in the arena didn’t appear during examinations—and that ferociousness had attracted the attention of potential sponsors. Ulaz had been the one to help Commander Sendak eventually decide that sponsoring the champion was in his best interest.

What Ulaz found most interesting, though, was the following that the champion had amassed. Even before taking over his care, Ulaz had overheard whispers about him. How the other prisoners were more hopeful than usual, had more drive, were more willing to fight back. They survived better in the arena. Ulaz recognized why this was, even if some of his own interns didn’t—they had told him they found it odd, actually, wondering what the cause was. Ulaz knew his mouth shut, as he had long since trained himself to do when he had gone undercover.

The champion was a symbol of hope. If he was as great of a leader as he seemed be, then perhaps he could pilot the lion that was on his home planet, and bring back Voltron. If there was a chance that Ulaz could help bring about that change, then by the stars, he was going to take it, consequences be damned. He just had an intuitive feeling about it, one that he couldn’t really explain.

When the champion’s care was transferred to Ulaz permanently, it was because Witch Haggar wanted him to perform tests in order to aid in improving some of her latest projects. The prosthetic that the champion was eventually given—after Ulaz had had to amputate the champion’s arm following an injury he couldn’t have healed—was one of the latests models. It bore a striking resemblance to a model that Ulaz had seen before on one of the members of the Blade of Marmora, one who had been a former gladiator himself, before he had been rescued by an undercover officer. Gladiators being tested on was nothing new, so Ulaz hadn’t asked too many questions about Shiro’s new “upgrade”.

But these tests… as time dragged on, Ulaz noticed the champion’s emotional state slipping further and further—acknowledged it, even if the Witch and her Druids refused to care. He knew that he had to get the champion out of here. Somehow. Someway.

“I don’t understand how you intend to help him…” Thace said, late one night while they were working together on information extraction. His voice was augmented with a metallic sounding undertone, due to his mask.

Ulaz didn’t look up from his typing—carefully hacking into the system while Thace stood nearby, within reach. “By freeing him, obviously.”

Thace scoffed, and Ulaz saw the flash of light as Thace turned his head. The visual receptors of his mask glowed blue in the shadow of his hood. “Not without blowing your cover you can’t.”

Ulaz refrained from going into detail about his plans, knowing that Thace would get annoyed with him—anger born from worry, but still. The thought of blowing his cover in order to give the champion a chance to escape had definitely crossed his mind. However, he wasn’t sure how he would go about it. Not yet. He could feel Thace’s gaze on his back. Even without his face visible, Ulaz knew that Thace had fixed him with an unamused glare, matched with a frown and pinned back ears.

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” Thace said in exasperation. “Because I won’t be able to pull your ass out of the fire this time.”

Ulaz snorted as his claws clicked against the console and he started the data transfer. “I’ll be careful… I promise.”

He meant that—he just hoped his sacrifice would be worth it, in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: [revasnaslan](http://revasnaslan.tumblr.com/)  
> beta'd by: [akumeoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akumeoi/pseuds/Akumeoi)


End file.
